Pinpoint (Point #4) (28 page)

“Iris, you’re my sister. I’ll love you no matter what. Do I need to do something more to prove it to you?”

“Insecurity got the best of me. But I’ve learned my lesson. Trust me.”

“Oscar Alexander. Work. Career goals. Family issues. Trust issues.” Violet ticks off each item on her finger. “Am I missing anything? I think we covered all the big points.”

“Wait! You’re moving in with Cameron. We didn’t discuss that yet.”

The happiness radiating off my sister is contagious, and I find myself grinning in response to her exuberance. “He asked me on New Year’s Eve. I took a lesson from you because I’ve been having a hard time reconciling it with myself, and I didn’t want to freak you out with plans of moving out when you just moved in.”

“It won’t be too different from the way things are now. You practically live with him and even stay there when he’s out of town.”

Violet huffs. “I’m not there that often.”

Cocking my head to the side, I look at her skeptically.

“Okay, okay,” she relents sheepishly.

“Things will be different when you move in with Cameron, but that’s okay. We’re adults and life’s full of change. We’re better off embracing it than fighting it. Especially because this change is a positive one. I’m really thrilled for you, Violet. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you. And Cameron’s pretty cool too.”

Violet nods. “Thank you for supporting me.”

I sling my arm around my sister’s shoulder and hug her to my side. “We’re relearning parts of sisterhood. And I think we’re doing a darn good job of it.”

Violet drops her head to my shoulder. “Whew. This took a lot out of me. Should we get lunch?”

“I wasn’t sure how this conversation would go, so I called in the reserve troops just in case I needed more to persuade you to forgive me.”

Violet perks up, and my arm falls aside when she sits straight. “Chicken salad?”

“And tuna salad.”

“Surf and turf,” Violet cheers.

Laughing, I follow her off the desk and toward the kitchen space. “Normally, that refers to steak and lobster, not deli sides.”

“Don’t undersell your chicken salad.” Violet throws me a look over her shoulder, wiggles her eyebrows. “After the unpredictable morning I had with Paige, I need a constant in my life. Your salads are nothing if not spectacular every time.”

Later that night, Violet watches me cook our dinner from the kitchen bar. She sits on one of the stools, typing on her computer and occasionally asking me questions.

“Do you prefer working with teenagers or younger kids?”

“Either, I suppose.”

“Did you like school? I can’t believe I hadn't asked you this before but did you finish your associate’s degree?”

Pausing in the middle of filling a quesadilla with cheese and shredded chicken, I quirk an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

“Thinking about your next steps. If you want to teach professionally, you’ll have to get a certificate. That means school and potentially debt.”

“I’m not sure I want to spend all of my time in a classroom. Mentoring Chicago never feels like work, and I don’t want that to change.” Turning my focus back to our meal, I hum to myself.

“Okay. Strike that suggestion from the list. What about working in a kitchen? Hey, Oscar Alexander must have connections with bakeries and restaurants in the city. And he can vouch for you.”

The gas stove hisses as the flame ignites. I don’t bother turning around to give my sister a stern look. “You’re not slick.”

“What’s there to be slick about?” Violet asks innocently. “If Oscar’s a great friend, he’ll have no problem doing a favor for you.”

The first of the quesadillas hits the cast-iron skillet with a sizzle. “I’m not comfortable asking Oscar for favors.”

“Why not? You’re friends.” She stresses the second word, and my hackles raise.

“We are friends. He’s the one who encouraged me to be honest with me—and you.” Glancing over my shoulder, I give her a pointed stare. “That doesn’t mean he needs to find me a job or be my reference.”

Violet returns my forceful stare. “Actually, it means just the opposite. Clearly, he’s invested in your friendship enough to show up at our house to check on your well-being.”

At that exact moment, a jingle interrupts our conversation and both our eyes fly to my lit cell phone. “Did I mention that I’m sorry for looking at your phone without your permission?” Violet says, trying not to look at my screen.

With a sigh, I turn back to dinner, flipping the tortillas carefully. “I’m glad you read my phone. It was the catalyst for our conversation. Tell me who’s calling please.”

Violet sucks in a breath.

“What?” Instantly, I’m tense.

“Oscar.”

“You scared me!” I cry. “I thought it was one of our parents—although I’m not sure how they would have gotten my number. But still.”

“Sorry! I was surprised. It went to voice mail. Do you want to call him back?” she asks temptingly.

“No. I’m eating dinner with my sister. I’ll call him back after. If you don’t drop this topic, I’m going to burn your dinner.”

Violet gasps in mock outrage. “How dare you!”

After we’ve eaten, cleaned the kitchen, and spent an hour crawling through potential jobs on the Internet, I sneak off to my room to call Oscar.

He picks up on the first ring.

“There you are,” he says. Do I detect a note of worry?

“Hi.”

“Been thinking about you all day,” he says huskily. “How are you?”

My heart physically aches in my chest. God. Why can’t he want me the way I want him? I don’t know how much more of this friend stuff I can take. Every interaction, every smile, every word, every innocent touch makes me fall deeper and deeper. I have no protective armor or battle plan to resist him. Why deny the undeniable?

“Violet and I hashed everything out. There’s been a lot piling up between us, for one reason or another, and we didn’t feel comfortable discussing it out loud. Both of us are so afraid to hurt the other because we’re all we have.” My voice trembles a little, recognizing the importance of the bond with my sister. “We worked it out.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Sincerity rings in his deep rumble.

“Without your pep talk, I’m not sure I would have been able to be honest with her. Thank you, Oscar.”

“You would have been fine without me,” he scoffs.

“No matter what you say, I know the truth about you, Oscar Alexander.”

“And what’s that?” I swear I hear a flirtatious undertone in his words, but it’s probably a reflex for him.

“You’re a wonderful friend. Selfless and thoughtful.”

Silence wages between us, and I wonder if I’m showing my cards (again).

“Did you discuss your career?” When he speaks, his voice wraps around me like a comforting cocoon. He sounds genuinely interested. If only he would talk to me like this every day. If only he would decide friendship is not enough for him.

“Actually, yes. I need to figure out what it is that I want to do first, but once I have a plan, she’ll find a permanent solution for me. Maybe it will be a slow transition, but I don’t want to leave her in a lurch.”

“No matter what you say, I know the truth about you, Iris Harper.”

I smile at the reflection of my own words. “And what’s that?”

“You are a wonderful sister. Loyal and dependable. Beautiful and brave. Kind and giving. Intelligent and luminous.”

My breath catches in my throat. Heck, I’m not sure I can breathe. What is he saying? Does he know what he’s doing to me?

“Oscar.” I nearly choke on his name.

“I’m sorry, Iris, but they need me in the kitchen. I have to get back to work. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Ye-yeah,” I stammer.

“Have a good night.” The phone clicks, and he’s gone.

I collapse on my bed, hugging my phone to my chest. Underneath the device, my heart hammers in my chest relentlessly. Oscar’s never spoken to me this way. Not even on our date.
Especially
not on our date.

Then I remember I don’t need to analyze this on my own.

Jumping upward, I call out my sister’s name. Only a few seconds later, the door bursts open and she races in. “What’s the matter?”

“Were you waiting for me to call for you?” I ask suspiciously.

She feigns an innocent look. “Maybe. Were you on the phone with Oscar?”

“He’s tying me in knots,” I confess.

“Spill.” Violet climbs onto my bed and shuffles until her back meets the pillows. I cross my legs and face her then I repeat the conversation as best as I can remember it.

“He wants you,” she evaluates confidently.

I frown. “If there’s anything I learned from this experience, it’s that I cannot have a physical relationship with a man without the emotional part.”

“It sounds to me like you have the emotional aspect of your relationship. And when I say he wants you, I do mean physically, but from what you’re telling me, Oscar adores you. I saw it with my own eyes at Mariposa. He stared at you all evening. That’s the sign of a man swept up in a woman.”

“You sound so sure of yourself,” I say forlornly. “He’s told me multiple times in multiple ways that all he wants is friendship. I’m not denying I have feelings for him, too, but . . . I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Fair enough,” Violet says slowly. “The last thing I want is you hurting. Maybe it’s time you are as honest with him as you are me.”

“There’s a chance he won’t want to see or speak to me again if I lay out boundaries,” I muse unhappily.

“Are you prepared to lose him from your life?” Violet asks wisely.

I meet her earnest with what is most likely a pitiful expression.

“I don’t know.”

Oscar

“Boss, there’s a VIP asking for you at table six.” I’m in the kitchen at Mariposa, hovering around like an errant gnat. My kitchen runs seamlessly. Even if I were to roll up my sleeves and find my way into the foray, it would disrupt the harmony of the stations. To think, I can’t find a place in my own kitchen. It’s ridiculous. Here I am in slacks and have to see to the VIPs.

Jesus.

“Got it,” I mutter to the restaurant concierge standing at the door to the kitchen. Except for the sounds of pans moving, flames licking, and sizzling morsels of food, the room is mostly quiet. Concentration is paramount. This is one of my rules, and I’ll remove anyone who does not adhere to it. Mariposa is the culmination of my preferences in the kitchen and wildest desires for restaurant conceptualization. Eighteen courses to delight and dazzle my guests. While I still play a role in approving and editing the menu, I am not the one inventing the dishes.

Envy floods through my veins while I watch the staff fulfill my vision.

With a barely concealed sigh, I turn and prowl through the building. Table six is on the second story of Mariposa. My restaurant has thirty tables. Plush carpet covers only the staircase, the rest of the flooring is Madagascar Ebony. Unbelievably expensive but worth every decadent cent.

As I stride through the restaurant, guests turn to look, some murmuring to their companions that the owner is making an appearance. Clint loves this shit. Says its adds to my mystique. To me, it feels like I’m a fucking zoo animal. When I see regular patrons, and yes, we have a few, or those who I know, I nod in acknowledgment. The rest I ignore.

Table six to my surprise holds a VIP, who is also somewhat of a friend. It’s a four-top table in the right back corner of the second-story room.

“Violet, Cam, why didn’t you tell me you were coming in?”

The moment Violet locks her gaze with mine, I know Iris told her we slept together because annoyance darkens her normally friendly blue eyes. Next to her, Cameron covers her hand with his as if to hold her back.

“It was a last-minute decision,” she says with clenched teeth.

“Would you like a chair?” A server, Darren, arrives at my elbow with well-practiced smoothness.

I nod my head in acknowledgment, not bothering to ask permission. Clearly, these two are here to speak with me. The chair appears, and I slide into it without breaking eye contact with Violet. Then I glance back at Darren. “Hold off service for ten.” He nods and glides away from the table.

“What can I do for you?” I’m cool. Unaffected. Unthreatened. Until I have the privilege to look out for Iris’ best interests, I won’t fight her sister for the honor.

“How could you take advantage of my sister?” Violet hisses.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought Iris was a woman capable of making her own decisions.” I don’t change the pitch of my voice. I remain stoic because I don’t want an argument with Violet.

The end game is Iris. If that means keeping neutral, then I’ll maintain this level of calm.

Violet lets out a puff of air, like that one sentence deflates her entire argument. “I know,” she grumbles.

Cam looks at his girlfriend with a bemused expression. “That’s it?” he asks.

Violet looks back at me. “My sister is pure. She doesn’t give what she considers one of her greatest gifts at random. She had real feelings for you, and I’m protective of her.”

“No need to explain. I respect your defensiveness over Iris.” I’m talking, but my mind has halted all thought, stuttering in place at the word
pure.